Long before she stole the heart of Han Solo, Calista Flockhart was alternately fascinating and frightening off men on “Ally McBeal” (1997-2002). On the David E. Kelley creation, she played the title character, a 28-year-old lawyer at the fictional Boston law firm, Cage, Fish and Associates, with a penchant for wearing short skirts and firing off verbal volleys that failed in the courtroom just as often as they succeeded. The show itself—a concoction of romance, comedy, drama and legal proceedings—was dizzyingly zany as well, taking place in a firm with a unisex public bathroom where lawyers, secretaries and clients habitually flirted, dated or had a romantic past with each other. And I loved every minute of it.

At the time the show aired, I was in college majoring in English and minoring in Women’s Studies. I remember the June 1998 Time magazine cover story featuring Ally with three pioneering feminists and asking, “Is feminism dead?” Some TV critics and feminists looked down upon the character and considered her particularly demeaning to professional women because of her erratic behavior and emotional instability.

“Ally McBeal” regularly dealt in the absurd. That was part of its appeal. You never knew if it would make you laugh or cry or both. And despite the madcap humor and reliance on its characters’ eccentricities, the show had a lot of truth to its premise. Single, independent women who want to achieve just as much satisfaction in their personal life as they do in their career get increasingly dismayed by the delay and difficulty in obtaining happiness, and the stakes only get higher as they grow older. They will stumble and fall in their search for love, much like Ally literally did on many episodes.

While depicting all the trials and tribulations of romantic entanglements—and utilizing vivid fantasy sequences for characters’ wishful thinking, most notably the dancing baby—“Ally McBeal” always retained a hopeful air. Instead of viewing the men Ally dated—Billy (Gil Bellows), Dr. Greg Butters (Jesse L. Martin), Larry Paul (Robert Downey Jr.) and Victor Morrison (Jon Bon Jovi), among others—as a parade of failed relationships through five seasons, I see them as her refusal to give up on love or compromise on what she wanted.

I’ve waited seven years until the DVD release of “Ally McBeal: The Complete Series” (available for $99.99 on Amazon.com with all the original music intact, according to Fox). Once again I can inhabit the world occupied by Richard Fish (Greg Germann), John Cage (Peter MacNicol) and the delightfully acerbic Ling Woo (Lucy Liu). And what a charmingly whimsical world it is—one where you can run into a former or potential love interest right around the corner.

With so many critical plot points omitted from the cinematic version of “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince,” I’m relieved the last book in the series will be made into two movies. The adventure and mischief we expect from Harry (Daniel Radcliffe) and best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger are lacking this time around. But the sixth installment in the Harry Potter film franchise is still a force to be reckoned with, brimming with infectious humor, temperamental teen romance and the tale of two boys on very separate paths. And Radcliffe, the linchpin upon whose shoulders this eight-part series rests, has grown as an actor, demonstrating his comic chops to hysterical effect in the Liquid Luck sequence.

The grown-up Voldemort (Ralph Fiennes) doesn’t appear in “Half-Blood Prince,” but his sinister presence is felt throughout most of the 2 ½ hours, from the dark, narrow, sinuous corridors in Diagon Alley and even Hogwarts to the overall air of menace hanging over the world; even the muggles have noticed the difference in the atmosphere. The two actors who portray the Dark Lord in his youth—Hero Fiennes-Tiffin and Frank Dillane—are aptly cast, both in appearance and demeanor. Fiennes-Tiffin, the adult Fiennes’ nephew, is downright chilling when he tells Dumbledore he can make people hurt. In retrospect, as we watch Dumbledore reveal memories of Tom Riddle to Harry through his Pensieve, we wonder why no one saw early on the warning signs of his moral corruption and hunger for power at all costs.

The movie begins with death and destruction being meted out by three Death Eaters who hurtle from place to place in swirling jets of black smoke. The scenes involving them are dark and monochromatic, like much of director David Yates’ grim vision for the movie. Against this ominous landscape—sunlight is scarce in this production—“Half-Blood Prince” focuses, for the first time, on the personal lives of its adolescent main characters to such a degree you start to wonder if all the adults have been stuffed into a Vanishing Cabinet. We don’t even get the chance to mock and laugh at the predictable absurdity of the Dursleys, as they are entirely absent from this movie.

The agonies and the ecstasies of young love become a central plot, with the added peril of magic. It’s Hermione’s turn to feel the sting of jealousy (remember in “Goblet of Fire,” when she attracted the attentions of a certain world-renowned Quidditch player, much to Ron’s irritation?). After a Quidditch victory—what is it about these Hogwarts girls and their susceptibility to airborne athletes?—Ron’s public snogging session with Lavender Brown causes a devastated Hermione to rush out of the Gryffindor common room. Emma Watson shows she can handle the dramatic moments just as well as she can the more comedic ones. In another scene, Rupert Grint elicits a lot of laughter when Ron accidentally consumes a powerful love potion and waxes poetic about the beauty of the moon and a girl he’s never even met. Meanwhile, a sweet romance grows slowly and quietly between Harry and Ron’s younger sister, Ginny (Bonnie Wright), who looks a great deal like Lily Potter must have in her teen years.

“Half-Blood Prince” does not concentrate solely on the affairs of the heart, though. The movie also illustrates the extraordinary growth that teens must go through and the hard decisions they are forced to make—often at too young of an age—in the storyline of Harry’s longtime nemesis, Draco Malfoy (Tom Felton). Unlike Harry, Draco has grown up in the lap of luxury, with the love and adoration of both his parents. He’s a spoiled brat who has gotten away with abusing and bullying other kids because his parents have always protected him from harm—until now.

With his dad in Azkaban (for you Muggles unfamiliar with HP, that’s a wizard prison) and his family in disgrace, no one can protect Draco from Voldemort. He’s in a precarious position, with a horrifying deed to perform at which he has little chance of succeeding. Instead of being surrounded by his entourage—you almost miss the slavish and superbly stupid Crabbe and Goyle—we catch glimpses of him alone, always nattily dressed in a slim-fitting black suit while wandering the school hallways or lurking in the Room of Requirement. For perhaps the first time in the history of Harry Potter, Draco deserves our sympathy. You realize how being a chosen one has alienated him from everyone else, even his closest friends, whereas Harry’s destiny has only drawn Ron and Hermione closer to him.

To emphasize the sharp divide between him and the rest of his classmates, a clever shot shows Ron and Lavender snogging on a staircase, only to pan to Felton standing on a balcony, staring off into the night, looking lost and forlorn. The scenes where Draco’s crying spills into the night have nothing to do with unrequited love or a failed romance but they are heartrending nonetheless. Felton, who in the past has overacted and literally spit out his lines, particularly the insults he snarls at Harry, demonstrates restraint in his performance and is far more effective as a tortured, brooding Draco. He doesn’t speak much either, but his lean, pale face says enough. He’s one of the few people who looks pensive after Dumbledore’s first-day speech about a former student at the school who made all the wrong choices.

The time spent on the budding teen romances and Draco’s development as a character in great turmoil comes at the expense of other developments. With the exception of a lesson by Professor Horace Slughorn (the wonderful Jim Broadbent)—really, can any school year at Hogwarts commence without the addition of a new teacher?—“Half-Blood Prince” doesn’t spend any time in the classroom. We see Professors McGonnall (Maggie Smith, in an unfortunate wardrobe consisting of lots of pointy details) and Snape (the delightfully acerbic Alan Rickman) roaming the school grounds, but neither of them do any actual teaching onscreen. That Rickman, who can inject more sarcasm into one syllable than most people can hope to fit in a sentence, doesn’t have much screen time in “Half-Blood Prince,” is a waste of formidable talent. He’s one of the most enjoyable aspects of Hogwarts, in spite of his venom often being directed at Harry.

Dumbledore fans will rejoice at the elevated interaction between Harry and the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft. A more somber, businesslike Dumbledore (Michael Gambon) is preparing Harry for his eventual confrontation with Voldemort, trying to arm him with knowledge about the Dark Lord’s weaknesses and past. His plan includes Harry retrieving a memory from Slughorn about a conversation he once had with a sixth-year Tom Riddle. I’ve always lamented the loss of the late Richard Harris as Dumbledore, and “Half-Blood Prince” makes his absence more painfully obvious. Although Gambon is a fine actor, he doesn’t capture Dumbledore’s essence. Gambon’s too authoritative, too energetic, too fierce; the Dumbledore from the books and Harris’ performances in the first two movies is more refined and quietly commanding.

Jessie Cave is hilarious as the obsessively possessive Lavender. As the well-built but annoyingly arrogant Cormac McLaggen—Ron’s rival at the Quidditch tryouts—Freddie Stroma provides comic relief whenever he leers at the mortified Hermione. Evanna Lynch, as the loony and lovable Luna Lovegood, is always a bewitching distraction. Helena Bonham Carter has a raucous time as the crazed Bellatrix Lestrange, cackling as she wreaks havoc within and without Hogwarts’ walls. Dave Legeno doesn’t have any lines as Fenrir Greyback, but he manages to convey malevolence with a single glance.

There are pivotal scenes in the book missing from the movie: The Quidditch match won by Ginny playing Seeker and the spontaneous kiss she shares with Harry later in the common room; Dumbledore more fully explaining his theory about Voldemort’s Horcruxes to Harry; the engagement between Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour—and Mrs. Weasley’s initial opposition to it. Little attention is even paid to the object inspiring the title: The old, worn textbook with handwritten notes and corrections scribbled all over its pages, turning Harry into a Potions wunderkind and making him one of Slughorn’s favorites. There are some pointless scenes in the movie that don’t exist in the book: Harry reading a paper at a coffeehouse where he meets and flirts with a pretty waitress; the fight at the Burrow that ends with Bellatrix setting the house on fire. The ending is perhaps the weakest part of the movie, lacking the battle scene at the school (one can’t help but think the students needed the practice of more dueling, given what’s to come in “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows”).

“Half-Blood Prince” lacks the smooth pacing of “Order of the Phoenix” and the narrative flair of “Prisoner of Azkaban,” even though quite a few of the scenes are wondrous to behold (the London bridge twisting and falling, the lake within a seaside cave). More emotionally charged and visually enthralling than usual, “Half-Blood Prince” does an admirable job of whetting our appetite for parts one and two of “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.” Those of us who are avid Harry Potter fans will rush to see them even if a Death Eater is standing in our way.

Bring on the next “Sex and the City” movie. If “Obsessed” or “Ghosts of Girlfriends Past” are my only options at the movie theater when I want to revel in the female experience, I’d rather spend time with Carrie Bradshaw, even if she isn’t leading the single in the city lifestyle anymore. When I did the online equivalent of yawning at news of a sequel two months ago, I didn’t know that, much like the dating dry spells Miranda has on the “Sex and the City” TV series, there would be a drought at the theaters of perceptive, engaging movies made about and for women. Carrie and her friends at least provide the opportunity for intelligent discourse on the challenges and rewards of being a modern woman.

Other films have tried to copy the “SATC” formula for success and failed miserably, whether on an emotional, intellectual or commercial level. Earlier this spring I decided to see “Confessions of a Shopaholic“—I was initially attracted because of the fashion montages promised by the title—but it’s a silly concoction of cinematic fluff better served up to young women who haven’t actually entered the workforce (read what I think about it here).

As for “Ghosts of Girlfriends Past”—is Charles Dickens rolling in his grave at the abusive play on his words?—not even the well-tanned brawn of Matthew McConaughey could entice me to pay money for “Ghosts of Girlfriends Past.” The trailer song alone—“Pictures of You” by The Last Goodnight (not to be confused with The Cure’s superior but different song by the same name)—makes me want to throw a stiletto heel at the TV screen.

“Obsessed” has less comedic moments, but I wouldn’t call it a real drama either. In the movie, a gorgeous woman (Ali Larter of “Heroes”) stalks a married man from work and eventually gets in a knock-down -drag-out catfight with his equally gorgeous wife (Beyonce Knowles). It’s a cross between “The Hand That Rocks the Cradle” and “Fatal Attraction,” and the premise of beautiful women physically competing for the love of one man puts this realm in the realm of deranged male fantasy.

“Management,” starring Jennifer Aniston, Steve Zahn and Woody Harrelson, opened last weekend. According to the Movie Insider Web site, “A traveling saleswoman sells cheap art to small companies and motels. She has a fling with an aimless, underachieving assistant motel manager at one of her stops, and he pursues her all over the U.S.” The genres it’s listed under? Comedy and romance. Only in Hollywood is a stalker considered the protagonist of a romantic comedy.

If we aren’t being presented with silly or superficial films about women, we’re offered cinematic fare lacking in any sort of meaningful female presence. I recently saw “The Departed” and “We Own the Night,” two male-centric movies that, if they feature women at all, bestow upon them only the most insubstantial of roles—typically that of a girlfriend or wife who has very few lines and almost none of any import. They are by no means the exception. So many of the movies on top 100 lists—or any reputable list, for that matter—focus so much on the story of men from a male perspective that women are relegated to minimal screen time or, in the worst case scenario, they don’t appear to exist at all in whatever landscape the director has created. With the frequent dearth of women in movies, an alien species might assume men spring entirely from the loins of other men. It’s an inane trend, given that women make up more than half of the U.S. population.

As much as this irks me, I don’t abhor movies meant to appeal mostly to a male audience. I saw both “Star Trek” and “X-Man Origins: Wolverine” on their opening weekends with my boyfriend without any coercion from him. I love action, adventure, fantasy and/or science fiction movies, all of which are intended mostly for men. And women like me are part of the reason why these movies do so much better at the box office. Women are more willing to compromise. How many women saw “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull” last summer? How many men, do you think, went to see the “SATC” movie, either by themselves or accompanied by their significant other?

Which brings me back to my original complaint. Since the release of “Sex and the City: The Movie,” we’ve had few choices that really appeal to those of us who seek a versatile handbag as well as gender equality. Women need to start taking control of their purse strings when it comes to movies, and maybe then we’ll have more box office power.

Hollywood is holding out on us. Like everything else in la-la land, where even a bartender can come home to an apartment furnished by Pottery Barn, the liquor they drink on the big screen is better than ours, maybe even magical. This special liquor is also available to those on the small screen. Homer Simpson summed it up best when he said, “Homer no function beer good without.” Alcohol, often the bane of a productive existence for working-class America, is the elixir of modern-day life for movie and television stars, at least while they’re in character.

There are two groups of alcohol, and I’m not talking about wine and beer. There’s the kind you and I drink—the kind that, when drunk in excess, makes you slur your words, fall down, repeat the same story over and over again until all your friends walk away, pick bad bed partners, sing at the Christmas office party when you’ve never been able to hold a note in your life, make out with your boss at the Christmas office party when you’re both married and attempt feats of strength that only lead to UDBs (unidentified drunken injuries). And then there’s the kind you drink if you’re on TV or in movies—the kind that lets you slur your words but snap back into sobriety at a moment’s notice, operate heavy machinery without harm to yourself and others, charm everyone around you with your wit and intelligence, stumble upon beautiful bed partners, crack murder cases, solve complicated mysteries and essentially save the world. Really, in what aisle at Jewel can I find that liquor?

Nicolas Cage is the latest to join the pantheon of I-Drink-And-Somehow-Accomplish-Great-Things in “Knowing,” an Alexas Proyas flick about the future of Earth and the human race. Cage plays MIT professor/single dad John Koestler, who, still devastated over his wife’s death, ends every night by consuming massive amounts of hooch. When his son discovers in a time capsule a sheet of numbers, all of which seem random but are actually predictions of global disasters for the last 50 years, does Koestler stop drinking while trying to decipher it? No, he drinks more! In fact, the liquor appears to aid him in his intellectual quest for the truth, since he manages to decode the numbers and figure out the last few chilling messages while quite inebriated. (On a side note, I loved how Cage’s character held back in front of his son—he sips, albeit frequently, from his wine glass while they dine—but breaks out the hard stuff once the boy’s asleep.)

The days of Alex Stemberg-like morning afters—remember that 1986 movie starring Jane Fonda as a woman who wakes up with a hangover and no recollection of how she ended up in bed with a dead man?—are over. Now we have Holly Hunter on “Saving Grace,” playing a man-hungry detective who comes home drunk every night from the bar and still manages to get up the next day without fail, ready to tackle cases the next day. And, if she hasn’t brought a man with her, sometimes the intoxicated Grace lights a cigarette and lays out the crime scene photos on her living room floor while blasting hard-core music. The alcohol makes her “smarter.” On the grim “Battlestar Galactica,” a riveting TV series about the plight of the human race in the future, the two highest ranking military leaders suck down liquor like the ship they’re on sucks down fuel. (I have to give Adama and Tigh a pass on this, though, since the situation they’re in—the near extinction of the human race amid constant threats from an A.I. race—would make even the purest of souls pick up a draught or two.)

Drinking while succeeding—it’s a sweet fantasy, but ludicrous nonetheless. Let’s be honest: We all love liquor, but how many of us are at our professional best while drunk? Not many. Just like bourbon bottles come with warning labels, so too should movies and TV shows featuring this pastime as a daily occurrence: What you see here on the screen is not the truth. Not even close to the truth. If you get too drunk, you will walk into things and hurt yourself. You will fall down. You cannot leap across buildings; don’t even try to leap across puddles or potholes in the street outside the bar. You will most get in a stupid fight with your partner/spouse and end up alone and miserable, with only your puke beside you in bed for company.

This conspiracy is unfair. If Hollywood producers can’t give us this magical liquor proffered only to celebrities in their line of duty, we shouldn’t have to be taunted by these movies and TV shows depicting the achievements of the highest functioning drunks we’ll ever see. (And if anyone from Hollywood is reading this, I have an idea for a movie. It’s a remake of “Field of Dreams,” only this time the setting is the south suburbs of Chicago and the Kevin Costner character is trying to build a bar inside a library. Or maybe it’s a library inside a bar. The new slogan? If you drink it, the answers will come …)

The epic, emotionally draining “Daybreak: Part 2” ends not with a bang or a whimper, but with a wink-wink, nudge-nudge. The last scene of the two-hour “Battlestar Galactica” finale takes place in modern New York City, apparently the hub of the universe, even in the sci-fi—or should I say syfy—world. Head Six and Head Baltar are strolling through Times Square. They stop to peer over the shoulder of Ronald D. Moore as he reads a magazine article about the discovery in Tanzania of Mitrochondrial Eve, who’s presumably the grown-up Hera Agathon. About to play in the background is Jimi Hendrix’s version of “All Along the Watchtower.”

It’s a cheeky conclusion, almost flippant, followed by videos of real-life technology meant to show the correlation between a civilization’s progress and its downfall. Forgot WALL-E, ladies and gentleman. In the dark, dismal world created by Moore and fellow executive producer David Eick, the dancing robot is not as innocuous as you think. Someday between doing back flips and the moon walk he’ll plot to overthrow you.

Despite its disappointments—and there are a few—the culmination of four seasons of one of television’s most moving, thought-provoking and extraordinary shows of any genre crosses its celestial finish line with both gusto and grace. I’m not sure if the last couple minutes measure up to the whole series or even most of the last episode, but TV shows of this caliber are rare, and I’m just delighted that most of this swan song resonates on just the right note.

By the second half of the finale, the colonial humans have settled on Earth, or a planet they name Earth, where the natives are primitive but compatible with their DNA—a scientific find that leads Gaius Baltar (James Callis) to remark they can breed with them and William Adama (Edward James Olmos) to joke that he has a one-track mind and, when the doctor takes offense, no sense of humor. But amid the bantering arises a crucial question: How did we naturally evolve on a planet a million light years away from the Colonial humans? A reformed Baltar points to divine intervention.

Religion plays a strong role in the finale. Who are the spectral Baltar and Six? Angels. (And let me add very seductive, debonair, well-dressed angels.) Who is behind the visions of an opera house shared by Six, Athena and Roslin? God. How does Starbuck get the fleet to the new Earth? She’s an angel too. And why did she lead them to the other Earth, the destroyed Earth, before? Is that why the hybrids call her a harbinger of death? Unfortunately, still no answers there, and we’re not likely to get any now that the show’s over.

We do know this much. The survivors of the assault on the Colony, along with the those of the fleet (who mysteriously end up in the right place at the right time), explore the fertile, grassy plains of Africa and are happy to call it home. Heeding Lee Adama’s warnings about technology and its perils, the Colonial humans decide to live in different parts of the world without taking any of their gadgets and gear with them. The good Cylons—the Twos, the Sixes and the Eights—conform to this plan, as do the the remaining members of the Final Five. Hence the visually arresting scene with Sam Anders (Michael Trucco) leading the abandoned Galactica and fleet ships into the sun. The survivors of the Final Five set free the Centurions who fought on their behalf and give them the Baseship to find their own destiny. Ellen Tigh (Kate Vernon) hopes it’s enough to break the cycle of violence. So do we all.

It’s impossible to view the last episode ever and not recall some of the greatest, most powerful moments in this series. I’ll never forget Saul Tigh (Michael Hogan) tenderly holding his wife, Ellen, and telling her he understands even as he poisons her for betraying the resistance movement on New Caprica. I’ll never forget Gaeta’s (Alessandro Juliani) eerie singing in the sickbay after his leg has been amputated. I’ll never forget the chemistry between Starbuck (Katee Sackhoff) and Apollo, whether they’re frakking or fighting. I’ll never forget Caprica Six (Tricia Helfer) shielding Gaius from the nuclear explosion on with her body—or her endless supply of flattering, form-fitting outfits. I’ll never forget the first time President Laura Roslin (Mary McDonnell) orders someone—the Cylon Leoben (Callum Rennie)—thrown out of the airlock. And I’ll never forget Cavil’s (Dean Stockwell) eloquent, impassioned tirade against the limitations of his puny human body.

Really, is this television, or an insightful glimpse into our future as well as the darkest recesses of our hearts and minds? Only time will tell.

A toast to the ultimate toaster battle

There is some heavy toaster-on-toaster action in this penultimate episode. The sight of the army of rebel Centurions with red paint slashed across their chests—to differentiate them from Cavil’s lobotomized forces—is impressive enough to instill an almost patriotic pride in Cylon haters everywhere.

The first half of the finale is what we’d expect: a spectacular showdown between Adama and Cavil. The fight scenes have some of the finest special effects I’ve ever seen, on the small or big screen. The level of technical genius as the Galactica jumps to where the Colony is and then plows into its side is riveting. The images of the ships attempting to navigate the swirling asteroid fields, enormous guns on either side firing on each other and the Centurions brawling in the ships’ corridors are exciting and chilling in equal turns. It’s a deadly ballet set in space with civilization-altering consequences.

The rescue mission is almost too easy. The assault should have been a futile exercise in bravado, but against incredible odds, Adama and his rag-tag crew succeed in infiltrating the Cylon stronghold and overcoming Cavil’s forces. And yet the enjoyment of viewing “Battlestar Galactica” derives not just from the challenges the fleet faces, but the drama along the journey. So I didn’t mind when they got Hera and escaped, because I could not have endured more misery and tragedy among the crew.

I’m sure every critic has gone into great detail about the battle sequences, but what left the most indelible mark on me is the opening shot of Adama and Tigh whooping it up in a strip club. Here, with strobe lights, pulsating music and scantily clad dancing girls, are the commercialism and decadence that doomed Caprica. You think you’d too distracted to follow everything, but the focus here is on the personal conversations taking place amid all the pomp and porn.

The strip club is a visually appealing scene with dual purposes. First of all, the flashbacks partly show how Adama arrives at his decision to helm Galactica and unwittingly put himself in the grueling position of saving humanity’s last survivors. Secondly, they provide further insight into the complex but undeniably strong relationship between Tigh and Ellen. Because just when you think Adama and Tigh are having a boys night out, perhaps even dabbling in infidelity, Ellen pops up behind her husband’s shoulder, cackling wildly, swinging from him like he’s a set of monkey bars, and downing drinks like the crazy woman we remember from earlier seasons.

The Tighs are having a lot of fun at the strip club; Adama is not. It’s pretty clear whose idea this is. And later on, when Adama is sprawled on the ground and puking on himself, you feel like you’re witnessing something you shouldn’t, especially when in typical “Battlestar Galactica” grim-and-graphic detail, you see his vomit spew out. Adama starts laughing as he gazes up at the stars, and this undignified but genuine display of human error is a stark contrast to the somber admiral making his last stirring speech to the crew before their present-day attack on the Colony. (Of course, present day is a relative term here, given that the final battle is supposed to have happened 150,000 years ago!)

There’s a critical message embedded in this scene: Adama is not a machine. He will fail from time to time. But what makes humanity special is not our ability to succeed so much as our capacity to learn. And Adama, despite being an old dog set in his ways, still has it in him to learn new tricks.

Best part of the past: Tigh continually yelling “YEAHHHHH!!!” several times at the strip club. You just have to see it for yourself to know what I mean.

Baltar to the rescue?

One of the most rewarding character arcs in the last half of Season 4 belongs to Baltar, former president of New Caprica and onetime reluctant executioner of his people. As everyone left aboard Galactica shifts into combat mode, Baltar experiences great inner turmoil. Perhaps in response to Lee’s earlier challenge, he is contemplating a selfless act: Risking his life to save Hera, the half-human, half-Cylon daughter of Helo (Tahmoh Penikett) and Athena (Grace Park). We saw him wrestle mightily with the decision on last week’s episode in the hanger deck, only to be shamed by the feeble, cancer-stricken Roslin making her way to the fighting side.

But I think his eventual decision to give up the creature comforts of his harem and stay and fight on Galactica precedes that episode. I trace it back to when he escaped to the Cylon Baseship during the recent mutiny, only to realize not even sex can distract him from the feeling he has abandoned his people and that he needs to find a cause and stand behind it for once in his life. That’s when the Baltar we’ve all come to know and often loathe grows and develops into a decent human being who can someday perhaps make up for the mistake of selling out humanity for love. (And good riddance to the Cult of Baltar. Talk about annoying. I chuckled gleefully when he says, “They’re all yours, Paula. Enjoy them.” I can picture Paula subsequently forming one of the first matriarchies on Earth.)

Baltar’s presence on the battlestar especially comes in handy when he manages to bamboozle Cavil, doing what he does best: bullshitting. With his talk of angels, God, destiny and the meaning of existence—all of which, I’ll grant, he seems to honestly believe in—he convinces Cavil to stop fighting and leave Hera alone. I don’t know if I consider it plausible Baltar could reach Cavil when no one else could, including Ellen, but maybe even the evil Cylons have grown tired of this war and Baltar’s words simply come at the right time. I wanted Ellen to duke it somehow with the monster of her creation, but her weapons are her mind and her feminine wiles, not her fists or firepower.

Baltar’s character has truly come full circle at the end when he tells Caprica Six he has spotted terrain that would be good for cultivation. The intellectual snob who was once embarrassed of his unsophisticated father and humble background acknowledges his farming roots to the person who now matters most to him. It’s a tender moment between them, and the tears in his eyes come across as genuine and not a means of manipulation.

The relationship between Baltar and Caprica Six also has come full circle. Without a doubt, these two are made for each other. I can’t think of a cuter sight—and there’s not many of them on a show as bleak as “Battlestar Galactica”—than the Amazonian, bare-armed Caprica and the petite, heavily protected Baltar preparing for battle. They were in love before, and they fall in love again as Caprica tells Baltar she’s proud of him for the first time. And, despite being on the brink of danger, they share a passionate kiss. But the real reason they’re made for each other—other than their impressive libido? They’re literally haunted by each other.

A tale of two Sharons

I have no qualms admitting to my thirst for blood when the recipient is more villain than victim. When Boomer twists Simon’s neck with a loud crunch to prevent him from conducting more tests on Hera, I cheered. It was a satisfying sound. (If only Cavil had been around too for Boomer’s brand of justice.) We haven’t seen much of Simon (Rick Worthy) during the series, but I feel a mixture of disgust and horror when I recall his central role in using human women for breeding experiments, with Starbuck (Katee Sackhoff) being one of his many test subjects. I’m not against all Cylons, but Simon merits any fate involving termination. Unfortunately, Boomer only kills one, not the whole line.

Despite this redemptive act, Boomer’s status is still shaky. Although I’m glad to see Athena has finally pulled herself together, she and the other Sharon now have this kind of Harry Potter-Voldemort conflict, where one can’t live while the other survives. Just when she’s finally embraced her humanity and returned Hera to her mother’s arms, Boomer is riddled with bullets by the still-angry Athena. Park has done a phenomenonal job portraying all the different Sharons, especially the evolutions of Boomer and Sharon. She might have originally wanted the role of Starbuck, but depicting the Eights has allowed her to really showcase her acting abilities.

One example of Park’s range is that I was both inconsolably saddened by Boomer’s death and frustrated at Athena’s obstinate desire to shoot anyone who poses a potential threat to her daughter—and it’s the same person in both roles! I know Boomer’s options were limited. She couldn’t return to Cavil, and she couldn’t expect to be welcomed back into the fleet. But there had to be another way, or so I mulishly hoped. She and Chief—once he got over her deception and if he managed to keep his hands off her neck—could have found some small corner in the universe to carve out a life together. I don’t think I’m the only viewer who wanted Boomer safe from the punishment I envisioned Athena, Cavil or even the duped Galen Tyrol (Aaron Douglas) inflicting on her.

Surprisingly, Boomer’s last memory is not of her onetime lover. It is of Adama back when she was a rookie pilot. In this flashback, he and Tigh are harshly reprimanding her for her mistakes while landing a Raptor, but the commander allows her to remain a pilot. From their well-rehearsed insults, I gathered that this verbal thrashing was a natural and somewhat enjoyable part of the job for Adama and Tigh. When their censure is over, Boomer tells Adama she owes him one, and that when she pays him back, it will be meaningful.

“Tell the Old Man I owed him one,” she says, just before Athena executes her. “We all make our choices. Today I made a choice. I think it’s my last one.”

Boomer has carried that memory—and that promise—for a long time. It’s a touching tribute to the character.

The opera house blues

I always knew the opera house was a symbol for another place, but I imagined something cooler than the CIC. I pictured it being on Earth, or a planet very like Earth. I thought it would be a real opera house, even if only the ruins, or an ancient structure of some sort. Still, the reenactment of the visions shared by Athena, Roslin and Caprica aboard Galactica is pretty powerful stuff, and “Battlestar Galactica” has a thematic history of melding technology with the mystical. As Caprica, Baltar and the ailing Roslin contribute in different ways to Hera’s survival long enough to reach the CIC, where the Final Five are waiting, the music and lighting add to the well-orchestrated experience.

The one false note in the scene is that even as he and Caprica see with their own eyes all the enemy combatants still present and struggling to fight, Baltar sets Hera down. Within seconds Cavil has scooped her up and is holding a knife to her throat. Really, Gaius, don’t you know possession is nine-tenths of the law? And when you have something as desirable as Hera in your possession, you keep a tight grip on her.

So many replays of the opera house visions in previous episodes have led up to this moment, and you expect something significant to happen. It does, but not in the way you think or hope. In a rare move—rare because he does it without seeking Adama’s approval first—Tigh barks out the promise to provide Cavil with resurrection technology to seal the tentative truce Baltar has managed to gain, causing Ellen to cry out his name in consternation.

We learn Ellen was telling the truth in “No Exit.” Rediscovering the knowledge requires the efforts of each of the Final Five. Even before Ellen explains to them they must open themselves up to each other and share their memories as part of the process, I was shaking my head no and furiously waving my hands. Those of us who have faithfully followed the series already know that an ugly truth is about to be revealed: Tory’s role in the death of Tyrol’s wife, Cally (Nicki Clyne). Not long after the mental joining all of them see Tory ejecting Cally from a Viper launch tube, and Tyrol reacts brutally.

Here is yet another vicious scene in the finale, but there’s far less sympathy shown toward Tory (Rekha Sharma) when Tyrol strangles her and then snaps her neck than, say, Athena’s treatment of Boomer as a firing range. For one thing, there is no reflection on the character afterward. The truce with Cavil has been disrupted, and that’s where our attention immediately shifts. I consider is a deliberate move. Tory has never been portrayed as a likable character, either before or after learning of her Cylon heritage. She becomes especially weird right after learning the truth: walking around with unkempt hair, talking about Cylon superiority, starting a relationship with the still-married Anders, sleeping with the enemy Baltar—remember, she was a presidential aide to Roslin and should have kept her distance. Tory really goes the wrong way about embracing her Cylon heritage, and she pays for it. Bad taste in men and grooming do not a Cylon siren make.

Although I don’t bemoan the loss of Tory, especially this late in the game, I’m troubled by Tyrol’s atrocious behavior and everyone’s collaboration with it. No one takes Tyrol to task for what taking the law into his own hands; Tigh tells him he’d do the same if someone had killed Ellen, perhaps forgetting his own role in his wife’s onetime death by poisoning.

Tyrol might not have strong memories of their relationship, but Tory is the same woman whom he loved and was engaged to marry 2,000 years ago. Now, I understand Tory is a murderer and that the justice system is not the top priority when Cylons are shooting at you, but I don’t condone female abuse, and Tyrol’s character has a history of it. His courtship with Cally begins after he pummels her face so badly she ends up in the sick bay. I know he didn’t intend to hurt Cally; he was having a bad dream and she unwisely tried to wake him up. I think it’s a good idea that when they reach our Earth, Tyrol chooses to live in isolation. He doesn’t know how to trust—or be trusted—with women.

Tyrol’s emotional outburst, to put it mildly, moves the plot along, though, in the direction the show’s creators wanted. Everyone is placed in jeopardy as Cavil, Simon and Doral (Matthew Bennett) resume fire until they die. (I’m still deciding whether I think Cavil’s suicide following the death of Simon and Doral is cowardly or just typical of his hard-core personality.) The writers are able to work in a line from “All Along the Watchtower” as outside of the Cylon stronghold, Racetrack’s dead hand accidentally launches her Raptor’s nukes at the Colony, and Adama orders Starbuck to jump. Kara mutters, “There must be some kind of way out of here,” and punches in the notes to her father’s song for jump coordinates.

Starbuck in (permanent) flight

The Kara Thrace thread is by far the most unsatisfying aspect of the finale and entire series. No answers are really given by the end about the cockiest pilot this side of the cosmos. I’m sure many fans like me feel let down and thwarted by the producers’ refusal to untangle the mystery surrounding one of the show’s most complicated and beloved characters. In her final scene, she might have had a look of peace on her face—a very unusual look indeed for the volatile Kara Thrace we know and love—but we’re left to be content with a puzzle. I, however, want closure.

The lusty, foul-mouthed, cigar-chomping Starbuck is not what anyone would imagine the heavens would employ to save humanity. If she’s indeed an angel like Head Six and Baltar, why could everyone always see her? Why wasn’t she aware of her true nature like the other two? Why doesn’t she appear in the finale scene with the spectral Six and Baltar? I’ve even heard that some consider her to be a Jesus figure who ascends—or goes on to her next assignment—once her mission with the colonial humans is complete. Or that at least the new Kara—the one sent back to the fleet—is Jesus. I have a hard time fully believing any of the theories, and I can’t understand why the series would end leaving so much up in the air about such a main character.

I wanted a more down-to-earth existence for Kara; I would have liked her to end up with Lee. Throughout the show, these two have always had a torrid connection, whether they’re making love under the stars on New Caprica or beating each other bloody in a boxing ring aboard Galactica. The flashbacks to their first meeting and their nearly frakking on the dining room, while Zak lies passed out on the couch, reveal they have been drawn to each other from the beginning. Even later, when they’re both married to other people—he to Dee (Kandyse McClure) and she to Anders—they can’t keep their hands off of each other. But much like their interrupted sexual encounter in Caprica City, the scenes are just a tease. Because once the Cylon threat is gone, they have no future together. One moment Starbuck is standing near Apollo, asking him what he wants to do on Earth, and the next she’s gone, like she never existed.

Kara has a more proper farewell with her husband, Anders, still only functioning as a hybrid. He is hooked up to Galactica’s systems once again, and his one clear, logical statement since becoming the Cylon equivalent of a Rain Man-like seer is a “See you on the other side” to Kara after she walks away. She sheds a few tears, kisses him and tells him she loves him, but I don’t buy it. I know Kara has affection for Anders—she was furious when neither Roslin nor Adama would greenlight a search-and-rescue team back to Caprica—but they aren’t convincing as “star-crossed” lovers. After he joins the fleet, she often ignores Anders or treats him like a sex toy. She obviously marries Anders to avoid making a real commitment to Lee, who would have challenged her. Her dedication to Anders since he received the head wound during the mutiny doesn’t seem right or fair to the material.

Perhaps I’m having trouble letting go of the idea of Starbuck and Apollo because I’m having trouble letting go of Kara Thrace herself. She has fulfilled her purpose, but she hasn’t answered any of our questions.

The president and the admiral

If Starbuck and Apollo represent the turbulent passion that can exist between two people, Roslin and Adama represent the calm that comes after the storm. Through hardship and sacrifice, this man and this woman have more than earned the serenity you see in their domestic scenes toward the end of Season 4. Unfortunately, their joy together is short-lived.

The bond between the stalwart admiral and the shrewd president is one of the most poignant and compelling elements of the series. I wouldn’t have guessed from the beginning they were meant to be lovers, not after Roslin disobeys him time and time again and especially not after Adama puts her in the brig that one time. But I clearly recognized the respect they start to feel toward each other early on, and when they become allies instead of perpetual sparring partners, I knew the fleet had a chance at survival. Their slow courtship is gentle and sweet—in a world where those qualities are in short supply and low demand.

I’m glad Roslin is able to see Earth for herself, or as much of it she can with her diminished senses, but how bittersweet the end of the fleet’s journey is also the end of her life’s journey. Her final flight—the aerial sightseeing tour Adama takes her on after bidding good-bye to Kara and Lee—is one of the most heartrending yet romantic moments in the show. He’s talking to her about the cabin they’ll build—the one they discussed on New Caprica—when she takes her last rattling breath.

Watching as Adama turns his head toward her and realizes she is no longer alive brought tears to my eyes, particularly when he takes his wedding ring off and slips it on her finger. I wish he had made the gesture sooner, when Roslin was still alive. His decision to live alone, with Roslin buried nearby, speaks volumes about his commitment to her even in death. People mostly comment about Adama the military leader—his powerful strength of character, his strategic acumen and his fierce charisma—but I enjoy Olmos’ fine acting just as much in his quiet scenes with Roslin, conversing in his quarters on Galactica or hers on Colonial One.

Much like Kara, Roslin is at peace with herself near the end. She has fulfilled her destiny of being a dying leader who, if not exactly being the conduit that led her people to a verdant new world, still played a critical role in the continued survival of the colonial humans. Her flashbacks in the finale are perhaps not as effective as the others—they show her blind date with an eager former student and eventual decision not to play Mrs. Robinson to the younger man on a regular basis—but they show the exact moment when she decides to do something more with her life. And that late-night phone call to join a mayoral campaign is what sets her on the path to the presidency and eventually into Adama’s arms.

Even outside of her love affair with Adama, I’ve always found the development of Roslin’s character intriguing, given her rise from Secretary of Education to President of the Twelve Colonies. I remember Tigh once telling her sometimes he thought of her just as a schoolteacher and other times he thought she had ice in her veins. In her reign, she’s sacrificed thousands of innocent civilians, abolished reproductive choice, killed enemy combatants without trial, almost stole an electiona and tricked Sharon and Helo into believing their baby was dead. Even though she comes across as formidable and sometimes even ruthless, she’s never without sound logic on her side. McDonnell has always portrayed her character with razor-sharp intelligence and steely grace.

Friday nights will never be the same without “Battlestar Galactica.” I’ll be eagerly awaiting the DVD release of the second half of Season 4—and keeping an eye on emerging technologies that can think for themselves.

Last thoughts

— Really, what’s up with Hera always running off? Everyone on the battleship is trying to save her, and she practically leaps into the enemy’s arms any chance she gets. You’d think with all the technology these people have, someone would have invented a simple device to keep her from leaving her parents’ side. Like a rope.

— I don’t know who the Hoshi dude is, and I don’t care. They had to put someone in charge of the fleet, and anyone of any import with the exception of Doc Cottle (Donnelly Rhodes) had to go on the rescue mission. But the ethically challenged Romo Lampkin (Mark Sheppard) as president? Sorry. I haven’t stopped laughing.

— Where has Leoben been all this time? He’s been in hiding ever since discovering with Kara her dead body on the destroyed Earth. I would have liked for him and Kara to have a final scene together. He owed her that much, after keeping her his prisoner and plaything on New Caprica.

— I haven’t studied a biology or anthropology textbook in decades, but doesn’t making Hera Mitochondrial Eve mean that only her survivors have lived on? Meaning she truly was the key to human and Cylon survival? Good thing Adama changed his mind about rescuing her.

— I hope Hollywood casting agents won’t pigeonhole the stars of the show, because many of the leads—McDonnell, Olmos, Hogan, Sackhoff, Park and Callis, among others—would be an asset to any kind of television series or movie.

My first thought when Friday night’s “Battlestar Galactica” began with a look at Caprica City before the fall: What the frak? This is the second-to-last episode, and I want to know what’s going on now. I want to watch what happens as humanity’s last survivors say goodbye to the ship Galactica, which for fans has as much sentimental value as any of the beloved characters.

But as these vignettes unfolded, I became drawn into the deceptively happy lives of Laura Roslin (Mary McDonnell), Kara Thrace (Katee Sackhoff), Lee Adama (Jamie Bamber) and Gaius Baltar (James Callis) before the Cylon nuclear attack reduced the planet’s population to a mere 50,298. A healthy, youthful-looking Roslin throws a baby shower for her pregnant younger sister. A blissful Kara plays domestic goddess in the kitchen for dinner with her fiancé Zak and his brother, Lee. Gaius embarks on a high-class seduction of Caprica Six (Tricia Helfer), complete with stretch limousine and loads of liquor. Eventually, Lee staggers home quite inebriated from his first meeting with Kara, only to swat at a pigeon fluttering around his apartment.

The serene snapshots don’t last long. We learn that Bill Adama (Edward James Olmos) didn’t want the job of helming Galactica. Roslin receives the news from police that her father and two sisters were killed in a car accident by a drunk driver. In between bouts of womanizing, Gaius takes care of his cantankerous father, who has just stabbed his nurse with a steak knife. We recoil as an angry, embarrassed Gaius insults his father, with Caprica Six as distressed witness before he asks her to leave.

Why are we being shown these poignant scenes? Because to arrive at the end, often we must reflect on our beginnings. And despite the epic nature of the TV show—“Battlestar Galactica” is such a harbinger of our future, it’s a frakkin’ United Nations panel discussion Tuesday—David Eick and Ronald D. Moore know that it’s the small moments in life that define us. And in a move evocative of the storytelling device that makes “Lost” so compelling and successful, the episode continues to cut between the present and the past.

“Daybreak: Part 1” functions mostly as a setup to next week’s two-hour season finale, where Adama and those brave enough to follow him undertake a mission to rescue the daughter of Helo (Tahmoh Penikett) and Athena (Grace Park). Since Hera’s abduction by the duplicitous and increasingly torn Boomer, we haven’t seen much of Helo and Athena, but the occasional peek into their private quarters divulges just how devastated they are by her loss, and how broken their relationship is. I’ve always liked Helo—his sense of intregrity is part of his charm—but I feel for Athena, who was forced to be a voyeur while Helo and Boomer played where to house his Raptor for the night. It’s understandable that Athena’s not quickly getting over this unintentional betrayal, especially when her husband’s infidelity led to the loss of their child.

Another important moment takes place in the brig between Helo and Chief (Aaron Douglas), who sought punishment for his role in Boomer’s escape. Helo is trying to convince Chief that even though they look alike, the Number Eights are not carbon copies of each other. A bitter Chief tells Helo all the Sharons are the same—machines you can’t trust. “She’s a blow-up doll, Karl,” he says.

Ouch. These two men once came together to save Athena from rape, but they’re on opposite sides of the brig now, as well as on opposite sides of the argument about whether Cylons are capable of having human emotions. (I vote yes. Athena and Caprica Six are just as emotionally vulnerable as the rest of the fleet, and anyone who doesn’t see that is a frakkin’ idiot.)

It’s interesting to note that while giving his speech to the assembly on the hangar deck—and certainly we don’t hear the full speech—Adama doesn’t appeal to philosophical questions about humans and Cylons. He simply states a child has been abducted from the ship recently. He didn’t sanction a search mission because he considered it impractical. But through gossip in different parts of the ship, it’s revealed that Adama has discovered where Hera is being held. During a scene the rest of the fleet isn’t privy to—only Starbuck—Adama learns the Colony’s location by questioning Sam Anders the hybrid (Michael Trucco).

Chief may now view the Sharons as duplicates of each other, but Adama knows better. He has grown to love and trust Athena, much as he once loved and trusted Boomer before she shot him. He’s a man who’s had to evolve and grow at an alarming rate in this late stage of his life when he should have been retired, and he has the kind of valor that we normally associate with warriors of old. But Adama is a fighter with a heart. It’s a photo of a smiling Athena hugging Hera on the wall—left behind—that directs Adama on his path, the path that Laura Roslin has been gently nudging him toward since last week’s quixotic “Islanded in a Stream of Stars.”

Like President Roslin, Admiral Adama has a way with words—even simple ones—and he manages to stir enough of the crew to carry out what he himself deems a one-way trip. Most of those who cross the red taped line to join the rescue force aren’t much of a surprise: Lee, Ellen (Kate Vernon) and Tigh (Michael Hogan), Caprica Six, Chief and Tory (Rekha Sharma). Kara is already standing there, and I’m assuming that although you don’t see him, Helo is not going to sit this one out; I’m not so sure about Athena, who is shattered and hopeless. These are the people most vested in finding the half-human, half-Cylon Hera. But I didn’t expect Hot Dog (Bodie Olmos, youngest son of Edward James Olmos) or Doc Cottle (Donnelly Rhodes), whom Adama sends back. Even the greatest military leader in the fleet knows they can’t afford to lose a doctor.

Once Caprica Six crosses over, she and Gaius seem to share some significant glances. It makes sense that they still have a connection. Gaius may have have never dreamt about the Opera House, but we know that he is there in the visions, along with Hera, Athena, Roslin and Caprica Six. In the aftermath of his heated discussion with Lee, where he petitions for a seat on the Quorum, contending the sheer numbers of his faction warrant it, and Lee asks him to name one selfless sacrifice, you expect Gaius to step over the red line. He doesn’t. You can see his internal struggle—he even moves a shoulder in the right direction—but it looks pathetic when you watch the visibly ill Roslin slowly make her way to the front after leaving the sick bay.

Still, this is the only episode where I felt anything for Gaius other than disgust or reluctant amusement. I felt pity as he is forced to deal with his belligerent parent. The debonair Gaius is out of his element when it comes to controlling his father. “Now shut up! You’re in enough trouble already!” he screams before turning to the nurse, who is leaving. “I’ll take away all the knives. He’ll be on a liquid diet forever.” But for all his verbal flogging of his father, Gaius sends Caprica Six away because he doesn’t trust his father to be on his own all evening. He loves him. And that capacity for love—real love, not just a sexual one—may be Gaius’ one redeeming quality in the days to come.

Last thoughts

Watching the crew strip down Battlestar Galactica was painful. It was like watching Carrie Bradshaw pack away all her clothes in “Sex and the City: The Movie.” (Yes, a girl can enjoy sci-fi and strappy sandals.)

What’s going on with Hot Dog’s baby? He’s very large, like the Bamm-Bamm Rubble of outer space. Are we sure it’s not Chief’s?

Does anyone else think it’s weird that Adama’s most trusted advisers now include, besides Lee, Kara and Tigh, who make sense, Ellen, Tory and Chief? Especially on this last mission? What about Hela and Athena?

One of the creepiest scenes: Little Hera, surrounded by her scary new playmates. With the exception of Boomer, she’s in the company of the most unattractive Cylons: Cavil (Dean Stockwell), Doral (Matthew Bennett) and Simon (Rick Worthy). Maybe that’s why they’re so intent on destroying humanity. They’re upset with the genetic cards they were specifically dealt.

“Dots, lots and lots and lots of dots,” Cavil observes as Hera draws, obviously not connecting the dots as Kara now would. Hera’s drawings obviously mean something. “Let’s get a tube in her and get her ready.”

The scene ends with a sound akin to the drill at the dentist, and you start to really worry about the lengths to which the three Cylon ogres will go to uncrack her genetic code. I guess we have to wait until next week to find out. Frak.

So they’re filming the next cinematic installment of “Sex and the City” this fall. Can’t say I’m too excited. Yes, I adore Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker) and her three New York glamazons—and of course I’ll make a trip to the theater to see the movie—but it’s just not the same when three of the four main characters are married. Unfortunately, I don’t have any alternatives. Those of us who long to view candid, funny, and occasionally poignant depictions of female single life have been sorely disappointed by what’s come after the “SATC” TV show.

In the five years since the series ended, its fans—women who love their shoes as much as professional advancement and who believe female empowerment includes sexual freedom—have had to endure such inferior tripe as “Lipstick Jungle” and “Cashmere Mafia,” neither of which really made it past one season. I wonder what made the shows fail more: the lack of chemistry among its female leads or the PG rating its writers had to abide by. Bill Cosby might disagree, but trying to honestly convey the messy, complicated but thrilling lives of single women without swear words or sex scenes just isn’t possible.

I turned on “My Boys” once, which has its core a strong female character surrounded by guys—hence the title—but I was turned off by the lanky Jordana Spiro. She doesn’t have the stellar fashion sense, introspective musings and “everywoman” appeal of SJP, who has been charming audiences since her days on “Square Pegs.” (Spiro also has an oddly gruff voice that makes her sound like one of the boys too.)

I regularly tuned into “Desperate Housewives” in its first season but eventually grew bored of the domestic struggles and family life. This is “Sex and the City” after the honeymoon; it’s the kind of existence you picture Laney Berlin (Dana Wheeler-Nicholson) from “The Baby Shower” episode leading in the well-to-do suburbs of Connecticut. I’d rather, as Samantha (Kim Cattrall) does in that episode, throw an “I don’t have a baby” shower party. Another flaw on Wisteria Lane? “Desperate Housewives,” which spawned an annoying reel of reality show knockoffs, lacks the heart that elevates “SATC” above other she-centric television fare.

If I were a decade younger, “Gossip Girl” could be considered a contender with its fashion-forward focus and bed-hopping socialites, but like Samantha being alarmed by 13-year-old Jenny Brier and her over-sexed friends in “Hot Child in the City,” I’m a bit taken aback by adolescent sex addicts on basic television. “Gossip Girl” is aimed at the tween and teen set, and although the actors are undoubtedly older than the characters they are playing, I have no desire to engage in this kind of voyeurism. Plus, all the backstabbing is unattractive. I’ve already lived through “Beverly Hills, 90210”—the original—and still haven’t recovered from the betrayal of Kelly (Jennie Garth) seducing best friend Brenda’s (Shannen Doherty) boyfriend, Dylan (Luke Perry).

On the occasions that I tuned into “Girlfriends,” which centered on four African-American women in Los Angeles, I found the show to be tolerable, even amusing sometimes, but it’s more parody than dramedy. There may be some stereotyping on “SATC,” but Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte (Kristin Davis) and Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) are not caricatures. Ever.

Despite the multitude of storylines involving sex, love and relationships, “SATC” is not a soap opera. Carrie and her gal pals may be seeking many of the same things—well, actually, Samantha is only ever on the lookout for her Next Good Time—but they’re not stepping over each other in their high-heeled Jimmy Choos to achieve them. They’re the best of friends. And that’s what I feel like I’ve lost: a best friend.